<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Another Round by allixiler</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27375820">Another Round</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/allixiler/pseuds/allixiler'>allixiler</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Law &amp; Order: SVU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:55:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,460</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27375820</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/allixiler/pseuds/allixiler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He has a stressful job, but he never thought he'd find comfort in the one who serves him his drinks at the end of the day.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rafael Barba/Reader, Rafael Barba/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Another Round</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bar was rather uninhabited compared to usual. Even for a Wednesday night the crowd was scarce and things were quiet. The smell of liquor and bodily fragrances wasn’t as thick in the air as it normally was. There were a few patrons seated at the various booths around the establishment. Most of them were office coworkers attempting to blow off some steam to ensure that they could push through to Friday where they could look forward to a couple of days off before having to prepare to do it all again the next week. </p><p>There were only two customers actually sitting at the bar. One was an older woman that you had the pleasure of seeing every Wednesday evening for about an hour or two. She was a lovely lady who worked in accounting at a private establishment. She had actually found the bar you bartended at by accident. She had been caught in a torrential downpour and ducked into the nearest building to let the rain pass. That building just so happened to be your little bar that you offered as a temporary home to those who needed it. You convinced her to at least stick around for a drink, to which she ordered a dry martini. Ever since that day, she now came every week. She was convinced that you made the best dry martini (with extra olives) in the whole city. In a general sense, she was great company and an even better tipper.</p><p>“Wonderful as usual, [Y/N],” She called to you from the opposite side of the bar; “I’ll see you next time!”</p><p>She tapped the money she had left on the bar to make sure that you noted to take your tip. You flashed her your warmest and most genuine smile, waving at her once she made it to the door;</p><p>“Thanks, see you later!” You called back. </p><p>Once she left, you were sure to clean off the bar where she sat, taking your tip, and setting her empty martini glass aside to be washed after hours. That left the only other person sitting at the bar. You had seen him about three times over the last few weeks and not once had he seemed interested in conversing with you. You had impeccable customer service as well as having a talent for reading people. You knew nothing about him, not even his name. However, you knew that whatever he did for a living was a killer on his mental health and overall being. Every time he had come in during your shift, he looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He would sit in the same seat and very quietly order his usual drink of choice: a glass of scotch served straight. </p><p>He usually would nurse his first drink for a little while before eventually loosening his tie and pulling some sort of work out of his bag. You were never nosy enough to try and figure out what it was, but it seemed to be important based off of the way he usually never took his eyes off of it. Most people would just look at him as being busy, but you looked deeper and identified that he was lonely. </p><p>You knew that some people weren’t as talkative as others. There was a portion of bar-goers that would rather order their drink and not say a single word the entire time. As a bartender, you craved to talk to those people to give your best job performance. As a good hearted human being, you craved to talk to those people because you knew that they desperately needed to. You wanted to be a listening ear to anyone who needed it. No questions asked or judgements given.</p><p>You had a rag in one hand and a highball glass in the other as you gently stood in front of the man. He was extremely focused in on whatever he was working on, so you softly spoke to get his attention and not break his stride;</p><p>“Can I get you another scotch, sir?” You asked.</p><p>A little startled, his head snapped up and his eyes trained on you. He processed your question before sighing and rubbing his forehead stressfully. He leaned back into his chair and set his shiny pen down next to his papers. Poor guy. He was beat.</p><p>“Yes, please.” He replied simply.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” You apologized sincerely, but with a slight smile. </p><p>You turned to the array of bottles behind you, selecting the same bottle of scotch you had served him before. He chuckled at your statement and exhaled deeply;</p><p>“No, no. Don’t be sorry. I got a little lost there for a minute.” He said briefly motioning towards his work. </p><p>You refilled his glass, returned the bottle to its proper place, and leaned forward against the bar just a little ways off to the side as he began to sip his second drink of the night. </p><p>“I can see that. You always seem to bring work to the place where work is supposed to be left behind.” You astutely noted.</p><p>He shrugged and cocked his head to the side shortly;</p><p>“You’re observant. I like that.” He responded rather coyly. </p><p>Now it was your turn to shrug;</p><p>“It’s in the job description,” You joked; “This might make me a bad bartender, but I’ve seen you in here more than once and never caught your name.” </p><p>He smiled tenderly. It was now that you realized just how charming he was when he wasn’t tied down to his paperwork. </p><p>“Rafael Barba. You’re [Y/N], right?” He introduced himself.</p><p>You nodded, but your head was hard at work. That name sounded so familiar. Where had you heard that name? Surely you hadn’t ever met him outside of work. Then it hit you.</p><p>“Barba...oh, you’re the prosecutor on the Lindsey Darien case!” You announced.</p><p>His smile changed into a surprised expression;</p><p>“I am. Not many people remember my name,” He admitted; “Usually I’m just the lawyer that people happened to catch on the morning news.”</p><p>You laughed gingerly at that. You couldn’t even imagine being a criminal prosecutor. It all made sense now. The late night arrival at the bar, the tense posture, the constant attention being on his work. He might as well have the weight of the world on him. It was no wonder he always looks so uptight. You couldn’t comprehend the things he probably saw everyday. The stories he had to hear on the regular would keep you up at night for weeks. You were just fine slinging bottles and cleaning up crushed pretzels off of the floor. </p><p>“That case is...an intense one, yeah?” You questioned, being careful not to pry.</p><p>He shot you a look that read ‘finally someone gets it’ and ‘you don’t even know the half of it’. You knew he couldn’t tell you any specifics and honestly you didn’t want to know. Again, you were behind a bar for a reason. You weren’t cut out for that kind of work. </p><p>“To say the least. One of the hardest of my career.” He confessed, finishing off his drink.</p><p>You wondered if there was anyone outside of work that he was able to talk to about his job. You hoped he wasn’t confined to only speaking to people involved with the cases he dealt with. That was a lot of bottled up feelings to carry around all the time. </p><p>“Well, in that case,” You proclaimed; “The next one’s on me.”</p><p>You refilled his glass once more, knowing this would be his last one for the night. He never drank more than three. He thanked you and proposed a new topic, wanting to continue speaking with you. He was beginning to find himself intrigued by you. He had met lots of bartenders in his life, but none of them seemed to have the same kind of energy that you did. He found it refreshing.</p><p>“What about you? I bet you’ve got some stories.” He remarked.</p><p>Oh, you definitely had stories. You learned very quickly that bartending was going to allow you to see the absolute best and worst of people. In a weird way, that’s what made your job so beautiful to you. It was a relief to know that it was okay to not be your best all the time.</p><p>“Sure I do. All bartenders do,” You agreed; “Are you asking for the craziest, funniest, or scariest thing I’ve ever encountered, counselor?”</p><p>He groaned with a modest guttural sound;</p><p>“Please. Call me Rafael. I don’t need my favorite bartender calling me by my job title too,” He said with a smirk; “But how about your favorite story?”</p><p>You felt your cheeks get hot at his nonchalant compliment. Many of your regulars were adamant about you being their preferred bar technician, but for some reason it felt different coming from Rafael. Something strange was brewing inside you and you could feel it in your chest...almost like a weird flutter. He was feeling it too, but he brushed it off as the alcohol settling in. </p><p>“My favorite story...” You repeated; “Well, I do have one in particular.” You declared.</p><p>He was very tuned in now. He was not the same man you had just been in contact with when he first walked in. </p><p>“I’ve been at this bar for a long time. Like, almost 15 years. I’ve had a lot of regulars come and go,” You began; “I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve forgotten a good many of them. But there’s this one guy that I’ll never forget.”</p><p>Rafael was watching you from over the rim of his glass, sipping slowly to savor his drink. He wasn’t sure where this was going yet.</p><p>“He came in every week when I was working and each time he looked more defeated than the last. After he had been coming for awhile, I finally asked him what was going on in his life,” You recalled; “It turned out that there was this woman that he had been friends with since elementary school. He was head over heels for her and always had been.”</p><p>You smiled brightly as you continued telling the story. It still gave you chills to this day;</p><p>“He was worried because he didn’t want her to reject him. He didn’t want to ruin their friendship. They were both getting close to their forties and he had convinced himself it was too late to get married and start a family. On top of that, he was scared that if they did get together then he’d always regret the times they could’ve had together but didn’t because he waited too long,” You told; “I told him that there was a reason she was still in his life. There was a reason that she never committed to anybody else. They had been tip-toeing around one another for decades. I knew they were meant to be together.”</p><p>Rafael was an extremely good listener. He wasn’t one to overly enjoy cheesy romantic stories, but this one was awfully captivating. For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t thinking about work.</p><p>“We talked for a long time, up until closing time. I convinced him to go for it. I told him that it wasn’t worth never taking his chance and then always wondering what could’ve been. The next time I saw him, he had a woman with him. Sure enough, it was her,” You recounted; “Turns out, they had been waiting on the other to make a move. They’ve been married for...13 years now.” You said doing the math in your head.</p><p>Rafael’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened. Turns out you were quite the persuasive speaker.</p><p>“They’ve got two kids. One biological and one adopted. Even after they got together, he didn’t stop coming here every week. She would just always come with him.” You continued.</p><p>He leaned his face into his hand. He was positively amazed.</p><p>“Wow. Do they still come around?” He asked curiously.</p><p>You shook your head;</p><p>“Sadly, no. They moved out west a couple of years ago. Although, he still has family here so anytime he visits the city he’ll come by. So we somewhat keep in touch,” You answered; “Every time I see him, he thanks me for giving him a push. He never would’ve taken a chance if I hadn’t.” </p><p>You took Rafael’s finished glass from the bar counter, setting it aside as well. He was speechless.</p><p>“Moral of the story, take a chance in life. You never know what might happen.” You advised.</p><p>“I’ll say. That’s incredible.” He exclaimed. </p><p>You smiled, happy that he thought so.</p><p>“Does that satisfy your story telling request?” You asked.</p><p>“Very much so. I appreciate it.” He expressed his gratitude.</p><p>Just as you were about to offer him a different story, his cell phone rang. Oh, well. There was always next Wednesday. He fished his phone from his pants’ pocket, read the caller ID, and groaned. He began packing his things up and you took that as he had to leave;</p><p>“Duty calls?” You asked.</p><p>“Yep. I’m sorry to cut this short.” He apologized,</p><p>“No worries. You know where to find me. It was nice to finally talk with you.” You said sweetly. </p><p>He smiled a bright, happy smile. It warmed your heart.</p><p>“You too. I’ll see you next week for sure.” He returned the sentiment.</p><p>He was in a rush to get back to his office, but you ducked under the bar to grab one of your business cards that had your number on it. With all this talk about taking chances, you found it appropriate to take one yourself. In the split seconds it took you to grab a card, he had already dashed out of the bar and down the street. You laughed in amusement, shoving the card in your pocket. You saw that he had also left a healthy tip, but with a small piece of paper on it as well. </p><p>Looks like you weren’t the only one wanting to take chances tonight.</p><p>He had left his office phone number as well as his cell phone number. With a small note that read; </p><p>Consider this as me taking a chance of my own. Call me sometime.<br/>

You grinned, making sure you didn’t lose the piece of paper. You wondered how he was able to scribble out a note and make it out of the bar in the few short moments that you weren’t paying attention. But it didn’t really matter. You had a new favorite customer.</p><p>One that was going to have a bigger impact on your life than you would ever dream of.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>